


Breakfast In Bed

by 221blogger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, My FIRST time writing Johnlock smut so be kind!!, One-Shot, Smut, Smutty, bottomlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 23:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16294355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221blogger/pseuds/221blogger
Summary: John is always doing nice things for Sherlock. Maybe now it’s his turn. Rated M for SMUTTY GOODNESS. Suggestion was given to me by a user on Tumblr. More details in the notes.





	Breakfast In Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to Tumblr user @talltireduser for pushing me to finally write my first Johnlock smut. I’ve been dancing around the idea for ages but could never find a way to write it. Heres the link to the original tumblr post: https://221blogger.tumblr.com/post/179041702398/this-is-the-girl-from-your-messages-and-id-like
> 
> I’m currently on holiday in Sweden so I conjured this up on my mobile. If there are any typos/structural issues that I’ve missed, please let me know, and I’ll be sure to sort it once I have access to my laptop again!
> 
> Here’s to more smut in the future! Enjoy!

Sherlock woke to the familiar tingling feeling he felt in his fingertips - the result of John’s body pressing its weight into the crook of his arm. John’s arm was slung over Sherlock’s torso; his leg thrown over his thigh. Every morning they would wake like this, tangled together somehow.

 

Sherlock carefully placed a soft kiss to Johns forehead, - cataloguing the way his skin crinkled and his lips curled upward at the chaste touch - and de-tangled himself, careful not to wake the man beside him.

 

Successful, Sherlock’s bare feet padded across the floorboards as he exited the room. He stretched his arms above his head, feeling the laziness of sleep slowly leave his tired bones, as he stepped into the kitchen.

 

John often spoiled Sherlock with little surprises here and there. Sometimes it was a kiss on the cheek or a fleeting touch on his lower back. Other times, it was gifts, or love notes, hidden around the flat. Now, Sherlock thought, it was his turn. Breakfast in bed.

 

As quiet as possible, Sherlock prepared toast and jam with their usual cup of tea. Placing their plates onto a tray, he tiptoed his way back into his bedroom. Their bedroom, Sherlock reminded himself. This was all still so new to him.

 

Entering the room, he paused and couldn’t help but smile at the man in his bed. Sprawled out on the sheets clad in nothing but a pair of red boxers, hair mused with sleep, John was now laying on Sherlock’s pillow; a soft smile dancing on his lips.

 

“John,” Sherlock whispered, his voice barely breaking the surface. “Wake up. I made you breakfast.”

 

John stirred slightly and fluttered his eyes open, halfway, and looked up at the taller man. A few seconds passed before John finally pulled himself up and rested on his elbows. “Is that breakfast?”

 

Sherlock sighed. “Yes, John. That’s what I just said, if you were listening.”

 

John only smirked. He sat up and patted the empty spot beside him: an invitation for Sherlock to sit. He obliged, placing the tray in front of John, taking his own mug of tea and sipping from it.

 

“Sherlock Holmes, the romantic. I should put this in my blog,” John teased, and then attempted (but failed) to stifle a giggle at Sherlock’s face. The detective was scowling at him in an attempt to appear threatening, but all John could see was the man he loved, his face still laden with sleep, evident by the crease lines from his pillow. He smiled and reached out, twirling one of Sherlock’s messy curls around his finger. “Thank you.”

 

Sherlock hummed and slightly leaned into John’s touch, his scowl now softening, and pointed to John’s food. “Enough chatter. Your toast will be cold soon.”

 

The two men spent the next few moments in a comfortable silence whilst enjoying their breakfast together. John couldn’t help but feel his heart swell at the thought of Sherlock doing something like this for him. He felt like the luckiest man on earth, to be witness to the side of Sherlock nobody else saw. The side that held his heart on his sleeve and gave everything he had to give. The side that held nothing back, was caring, was tentative; observant. He smiled up at the curly-headed man.

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John and took the tray from between them. He found himself stunned, however, unable to finish his action, instead sat perfectly still holding the empty plates. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, powerless to speak.

 

John slowly reached out and took the tray from Sherlock’s - slightly trembling - hands, and placed it on the ground beside the bed. He took Sherlock’s hands in his, intertwined their fingers and brought them down into his lap. “Cat got your tongue?”

 

Sherlock simply blinked, blue-green eyes boring into John’s, searching for his words. “John, I... I know we haven’t said it yet, But I... I want you to know that I... My feelings for you are...”

 

John placed a finger to Sherlock’s lips. “It’s okay, Sherlock. I know. You don’t need to say it.”

 

The detective pursed his lips together and nodded, eyes now focused on John’s lips. His voice came out in a deep and gravelly whisper. “Maybe I could show you, instead.” His eyes popped back up to meet John’s which were now dilated with lust. The doctors tongue darted out to lick his lips.

 

“Oh god, yes.”

 

With that, John practically flung himself at Sherlock, pinning the taller man beneath him, and pressed his lips against his. Sherlock’s hands found their home - one in Johns hair, lightly gripping and tugging, the other tracing lines down his spine - and John removed his lips with a groan. Sherlock curved his head and John began peppering kisses along the newly exposed skin, scraping his teeth and lightly licking the goosefleshed skin.

 

“Sherlock Holmes, the great detective...” John whispered between kisses, “...why is it, that such an ordinary, boring man like me...” he sucked Sherlocks skin, shivering at the sound he made, “...can make you fall apart like this?”

 

Sherlock’s fingers tightened around John’s hair and he moaned into John’s shoulder, feeling every word shoot jolts of pleasure straight to his cock. “Wrong,” Sherlock panted, his hands now scrambling over John’s body, desperate for some sort of contact.

 

John stopped his assault on Sherlock’s neck and lifted himself above him, his weight braved on his palms. “Oh?” he quizzed, smirking at Sherlock’s puffy lips and hooded eyes.

 

“You’re not ordinary, John. Or boring,” Sherlock whispered, his hands still attempting to pull John back to him, desperately missing the contact. “Come back. Don’t stop.”

 

John resisted, pulling away to sit back on Sherlock’s thighs. Sherlock whined and squirmed, his hard cock now uncomfortably pressing against his boxer shorts. “What am I then?” John folded his arms across his chest, enjoying the view of a powerless Sherlock riddled with lust.

 

At this, Sherlock just groaned in frustration and bucked his hips in an attempt to feel something. “Not now, John.” He reached for John’s arms but missed as he jerked his body backwards, giving Sherlock a full view of John’s hard cock pressed against the red fabric of his underwear. The detective closed his eyes. “John...”

 

“All you have to do is answer me, Sherlock, then I’ll give you whatever you want.”

 

Sherlock opened one eye in response and John had to stifle a laugh. He looked like a child who was just offered dessert if he ate his vegetables. “Whatever I want?” Sherlock’s tone was teasing and devilish, accompanied by a toothy grin.

 

John resumed his dominance, although he was amused by the man beneath him. “Yes. Don’t change the subject. What am I, Sherlock?”

 

“You’re... John,” Sherlock began, but continued when John only raised an eyebrow at him. “My best friend. Wonderful. You’re a soldier - a doctor. A good man. A great fuck. A war hero. A survivor. My blogger. Not boring. Not ordinary. Mine.”

 

A little stunned, and very aroused, John unfolded his arms and sighed. “You,” he began, leaning back down over Sherlocks bare torso, “are a force of nature.”

 

Sherlock’s hands once again found their place on John and he raised his head to press his lips against the man above him. His tongue teased entry and John complied, running his fingers through Sherlock’s curls and down his chest into the bundle of hair below his navel.

 

Sherlock threw his head back against his pillow and growled a low guttural sound that tumbled through every fibre of Johns being. He returned his lips to Sherlock, this time against his jaw, his cheekbones, his neck, his collarbones - anywhere John could reach. His hand found Sherlock’s member and gripped as he bit down onto Sherlock’s shoulder.

 

Sherlock’s hands found their way to the sheets which he had balled up into tight fists as if he were holding on for dear life. John was right. Nobody had ever brought this side of him to the surface. Hell, even Sherlock wasn’t aware it existed. He had kissed people before, but that was it, and it was always for a case. He had never allowed himself, emotionally, to be undone the way he allowed John. He trusted John and, after their first time, full of awkward fumbling and gentle kisses, Sherlock became addicted. He wanted to learn everything there was about John. What did he like? What didn’t he like? What happens when I touch here? What happens if I kiss there? It was exhilarating. He wouldn’t call it an experiment - John wasn’t a subject - but he found he couldn’t stop himself from storing every expression and physical reaction to his touches, and testing them in different situations and places. He adored learning about John, and even about himself, as he allowed the man above him to ruin him for anybody else.

 

Not that he wanted anybody else.

 

Snapping back to reality, Sherlock felt the familiar pool of heat gathering in his stomach, and he reached out to still John’s hand. John understood and, within seconds, was flipping Sherlock onto his stomach and pulling lube out from the dresser beside their bed.

 

Suddenly, the detectives pants were pulled down and left clinging to his thighs. Sherlock practically squealed at the unexpected cool liquid that now covered his backside, and John laughed, gently pressing a finger to Sherlock’s entrance. “You’re wrong, you know.”

 

Sherlock twisted his head so he laid his cheek against his pillow. “I’m never wrong.”

 

“Actually, you are. Quite frequently. About me. I’m not just a great fuck,” he mimicked Sherlock’s tone and drew circles with his finger. “I’m much more than that.”

 

Sherlock pressed back into John, desperate to feel him inside.

 

Sherlock’s voice dripped with sex. “Then correct me, doctor.”

 

He finally pressed his finger into Sherlock, pressing his knuckles against his arse, enjoying the pleasant sounds that escaped Sherlock’s lips. Not so cocky now, John thought. He continued for a few moments before adding a second finger, then a third, watching the way Sherlock’s body writhed beneath him in a silent beg for more.

 

“John... Please.”

 

John removed his fingers. ”Is the great detective begging?”

 

Sherlock pouted. “I don’t beg.”

 

“But darling, you just did.”

 

Before Sherlock could respond with another smug comeback, John pulled his cock out through the slit in his boxers and pushed himself into Sherlock’s heat. He watched Sherlock’s mouth fall open and his fingers clutch the pillow beneath him, before a filthy moan escaped his throat.

 

“Fuck, Sherlock...” John managed between thrusts, “those noises should be illegal. Especially from you.”

 

Sherlock simply continued to make such sounds, cataloguing the way John’s grip on his backside tightened and his nails pressed into his flesh. He began to push back into John, meeting each thrust with eager movements, once again reaching his end.

 

“John,” Sherlock choked. His grip on the pillow tightened.

 

“I know, Sherlock,” John breathed, reaching beneath them to grip Sherlocks cock and pull, pleasuring the wriggling man beneath him. He placed a kiss to Sherlock’s shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

 

John’s voice, barely a whisper, was enough to push Sherlock over the edge. He felt his entire body tense around John as his climax ripped through him.

 

Seconds later, John’s followed, as he felt him pull out and come over Sherlock’s trembling back with a groan that was explicit enough to ruin anyone.

 

Even Sherlock.

 

Collapsing onto the bed together, the hot, sweaty men shared a look which dissolved into a quiet giggle.

 

Sherlock leaned to the side to gently kiss John. “More sleep?” He asked.

 

John simply nodded - words weren’t a possibility just yet - and he quickly grabbed a towel from the floor to wipe Sherlock’s back before pulling him in for a cuddle.

—-

John woke, instantly saddened by the absence of Sherlock’s body. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, checking his clock. 11:42AM. Sighing, he rolled over, and heard a slight crinkling. Lifting his head he found a note. Sherlock’s hand writing.

 

“Popped out. Lestrade has a case. Didn’t want to wake you.”

 

John smiled. Ever the detective. He turned the note, and there it was, scrawled in Sherlock’s handwriting.

 

“I love you.”

 

John’s heart swelled. He was truly the luckiest man alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought, good and bad - I thrive off feedback and would love to know your thoughts. Leave a kudos if you liked this. Thank you!
> 
> My tumblr: @221blogger


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